


The Murder Of One

by petroltogo



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti Mystic Falls Gang, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family first, Gen, Mikaelson Massacre, Nobody hurts an Original except an Original, Originals as a Family, Pro Originals, Revenge, Torture, Vengeful Elijah, Vengeful Klaus, Vengeful Rebekah, always and forever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13205844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petroltogo/pseuds/petroltogo
Summary: "They killed Kol."The Original Family is rumoured to be a great many of things. Forgiving isn't one of them.





	1. Rage

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen down the wagon and am back in my favourite TVD hell. As per usual, I regret nothing. This is an older work I posted on ff.net, I'm hoping to finish it this time - because yes, even after all these years and everything that happened in The Originals to make up for it, I'm still pissed about the dismissal of Kol's death. Expect no happy endings for the Mystic Falls Gang here. As much as I like them, they really shouldn't have killed Kol.

> _In moments of pain we seek revenge._
> 
> —Ami Ayalon

**_Niklaus_ **

Four minutes. That was how much time Klaus wasted, starring at his little brother's remains, the corpse burnt beyond recognition, in what might have been shocked disbelief and felt a lot more like utter devastation.

His  _brother_. His  _little_  brother.

Dead.

His little brother had been  _killed_.

The thought burnt like liquid vervain through his veins, snapped him out of his desolate state of horror as the first inkling of something much darker than sadness or pain rouse inside of him. An emotion that had first been awoken by his parents' betrayal almost a thousand years ago. During all this time it had never failed him, nor had it lost any of its strength.

Klaus was quick to angry and very hard to please, two facts that, together with his callous disregard for life, had earned him the fearful respect of many vampires, and had been the death of even more. His temper was almost legendary and, being as old as he was, Klaus was well-aware of his own faults and weaknesses.

It was a little known—though in the company of logical people not seldom suspected—fact that Klaus didn't lack the  _ability_  to control himself. He simply chose not to bother most of the time, too secure in his own invulnerability perhaps, but also unwilling to limit himself in any way he didn't find enjoyable. Additionally, Klaus knew himself and his emotions very well. He had lived for hundreds of years and could safely say that he had felt almost anything his kind was capable of feeling. He knew his annoyance, his frustration, his anger. He knew how he reacted to betrayal and rejection.

And Klaus knew very, very well that under normal circumstances the fact that one insignificant, little witch had bested him, and managed to trap him in the Gilbert house, would have made him lose it completely.

The murder of his own  _brother_  did  _not_  count as normal circumstances.

Klaus wasn't angry.

He was  _enraged_.

And while the world might fear his anger,  _nobody_  survived his rage.

Klaus averted his eyes from his brother's remains and pulled his phone from his pocket. He had allowed them to live after they had murdered Finn, well-aware of his older brother's self-disgust and Finn's own betrayal still too fresh in his mind. So, Klaus had been willing to overlook the actions of the Salvatores and their pathetic friends for once—after he had calmed down, that was.

That had been a mistake Klaus had no plans of repeating.

Klaus smiled the cold smile of a methodical killer planning his next victim's demise. They had seen his anger, hot and irrational and short-lived. But never before had they earned his wrath.

* * *

**_Rebekah_ **

When her phone rang, Rebekah was seriously tempted to ignore it. For once, she was having a wonderful time with Stefan. For once, she could _almost_ forget that she had lost him to that stupid doppelgänger bitch, no thanks to her  _darling_  brother and his stupid machinations. For once, she was happy and felt almost human—and she had no illusions that whatever it was that Nik wanted, it would completely ruin her night.

She was right.

But everyone knew better than to ignore Nik. He was a little  _sensitive_  when it came to those things, and as much as he sometimes annoyed her, Rebekah loved her brother, and didn't relish in riling him up as often as possible. That was Kol's job after all. Besides she had never been very good at giving somebody the cold shoulder.

So, with a resigned sigh and an apologetic glance towards Stefan, who's eyes silently begged her not to take the call, she answered her phone.

"What do you want, Nik?" she snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended. The constant arguments within their family were really starting to get to her, especially with both, the cure and Kol's incessant threats, looming over them all.

"Rebekah, my sweet sister, how are you this fine evening?"

His words alone would have been enough to raise her suspicions—because god knows Niklaus never called her his 'sweet sister' anymore—but it was the deceptively soft tone that made Rebekah's entire body freeze. Nik was never  _gentle_ , not even when he was trying to be sweet, and that unnatural, toneless calm made her wary in a way only her father had ever earned before. She could literally feel her hackles rising.

"Nik?" she asked, surprised how choked she sounded, but unable to do anything about it. Was it just her imagination or was her heart really racing in her chest like that of a silly, startled, little human? "Nik, what's wrong?"

"Call Elijah" her brother answered, still in that unsettling tone that made even his command—and there was no doubt that it was, in fact, a command—sound like a simple suggestion. "It's time for a little  _family bonding_."

The last two words were accompanied by a feral growl, and the thought of anything that could have possibly upset her brother like this chilled Rebekah to her bones. "What happened?" she repeated the question urgently, and suddenly noticed the alarmed expression Stefan desperately tried to mask. She suppressed a scoff. He had never been able to lie to her. Right now though Rebekah almost wished he could.

A moment of silence passed, and all she heard was Nik's breathing, calm and regular, as though there was nothing wrong at all. It set her even more on edge than the friendly words had.

"The  _Gilberts,_ " Nik spat the name out like a curse word, and for the first time in their entire conversation Rebekah recognised the brother she had spent hundreds of years with, "decided to kill Kol tonight. He's dead."

He's dead.

He's dead.

The phone slipped from her limp fingers, but the clatter was drowned out by the suffocating silence surrounding her, the simple words repeating themselves over and over again inside her mind.

He's dead.

He's dead.

Kol's dead.

"Did you know?" The words tasted like ash on her tongue, and her throat felt painfully raw, but surprisingly there were no tears in her eyes, nor the traitorous, burning sensation that usually preceded them.

Stefan hesitated. It was all the answer she needed.

The tears came then, suddenly and unexpected, because Rebekah should be surprised, but she wasn't.

Everything that happened after that was a blur. There was the sensation of warm flesh giving in under the pressure of her sharp nails, the coppery scent of fresh blood, and a startled yelp of pain. There was Nik's voice, barely penetrating her mind through the daze of her fury, calling out to her, and promising that he had plans for the Salvatore brothers' that would be much more painful than a single ripped-out heart. There was the sharp crack of a broken neck, probably a few rips as well, and then there was only silence, her own broken gasps for air, and the drying blood on her freshly manicured hands.

Everything was a blur, but as Rebekah wiped her arms clean on Stefan's formerly white shirt, she felt like she could see the world clearly for the first time in months.

* * *

**_Elijah_ **

He answered his phone.

If it had been Niklaus, he probably wouldn't have bothered. If it had been Kol, he definitely would have ignored it. But it was Rebekah—his sweet, younger sister, who had worn those flower crowns he had made for her on occasion for  _days_ —and he answered. There was really nothing else he could have done.

The resulting conversation was short. The voice of his sister so eerily calm, he almost didn't recognise her. Almost.

"They killed Kol."

Three words that shouldn't have had capability to bring him to his knees, agony twisting his handsome features into a haunting grimace few had ever seen before. But they did.

And Elijah would be lying if he denied that those words brought him back to Mystic Falls before the sun rose.


	2. Reinforcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You cost me my brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people are sceptic of OCs, which is why I want to explain why there is one included in this very Mikaelson-family-focused fic. At this point in the story, the Scooby Gang has managed to kill two Originals and trap one in a house. They are also in possession of the white oak stake and Bonnie is currently powerful enough to keep Klaus in check on her own. That's why it only makes sense in my opinion that they would reach out for reinforcements. Said OC reinforcement will not in any shape become the focus of the story, nor will they be very involved in the revenge.
> 
> But that's enough from my side. Have fun with this chapter!

> **** _To take revenge half-heartedly is to court disaster, either condemn or crown your hatred._
> 
> _—_ Pierre Corneille

**_Niklaus_ **   
****

Klaus didn’t have an instinctive understanding of magic, nor did he spend most of his immortal life gaining the favour of strong witches and warlocks all over the earth. _Not like Kol_. A thought that, at one point, had been nothing but a subconscious acknowledgment of his little brother’s quirks now felt like a stake to the stomach. But Klaus forced himself to brush the wailing agony off, refusing to let those weaker emotions distract him from his goal.

He might not have been obsessed with magic, true, but as the son of the Original Witch he was far from ignorant of their powers. And like all of his siblings, Klaus had always made it a point to covet power.

For a moment his fingers hovered over the display of his phone, hesitating, as he tried to decide on whom to call. There were enough witches and warlocks in his debt for one reason or another, but few of them had the required power and deviousness. Never mind that they would directly act against the Bennett line, which was widely renown for its strength and highly regarded members.

In other words, the person in question would have to be loyal to him, at least to a certain degree. Which excluded everyone he had recently displeased or who’s friend or relative he had killed. That... narrowed the list of possible assistants down quite a bit. In fact, after Greta’s untimely demise during the ritual last summer and the local witch massacre, a decent witch was hard to come by—close to Mystic Falls that is.

On the other hand, Klaus had heard rumours of one of his contacts possessing an ability rather similar to teleportation, which would conveniently solve the distance problem. It didn’t hurt that it was one of the few magic users, who didn’t hate vampires in general. Klaus would have invested a lot more time securing her alliance if it wasn’t for some of her other _eccentrics,_ but even so he had been unwilling to discard her completely.

Within seconds of his internal debate, Klaus reached the conclusion that said contact was the best he was going to get under to the current circumstances, and dialled a number he had never even bothered to save in his contacts.

The phone rang. And rang. Klaus tapped his feet against the ground impatiently. And rang.

"Get es Krista gut?" A sleepy voice asked, almost two seconds after Klaus had obliterated the table closest to him.

"Rider!" he snapped immediately. "Why did it take you so long to answer the god damn phone?"

There was a moment of silence, cut off by a loud yawn before—" _Klaus_? Is that _you_?" And then, because Rider had never been one to keep her mouth shut (and was much too aware that even he wasn’t able to kill her through the phone, no matter how much he may want to), "You do know it’s in the middle of the fucking night, don’t you?"

"I don’t care!“ Klaus hissed, interrupting the girl before she had a chance to talk herself into one of her inconsequential, but quite bothersome hissy-fits. Had the circumstances been different, he might have humoured her, but. Kol’s _body_ made it hard to forget why he was having this conversation in the first place. "I want you in Mystic Falls as soon as possible and ready for a fight!“

His supernatural hearing picked up the rustling on the other line as Rider gathered her things, but her breathing remained even. That was more than Klaus could say for himself. "Who died?" Rider asked, her voice calm but serious.

Balling his free hand into a fist so tight his finger nails drew blood, Klaus averted his eyes from the scene of the crime. "I want you in Mystic Falls, Virgina," he commanded, his tone growing colder by the second, as his body started to tremble with the force of the fury it had to contain. "You have three minutes!"

They were the only words Klaus managed to force out before the remains of his phone crumbled to the ground.

*

In retrospect, destroying his only means of communication with the outside world while being trapped inside the Gilbert home for four days might not have been his smartest decision. On the plus side, it gave Klaus a lot of time to glare at the clock as though he could move time forward through sheer will power alone or, alternatively, pace from one end of his temporary prison to the other one. 

Suffice to say, it was a long two minutes and thirty-five seconds before the sound of a beating heart suddenly filled the silence. Klaus' head snapped up just in time to see Rider cock her head in a way that reminded him a little too much of Kol as she stared owlishly at something straight over his head.

"That explains it, then." Rider nodded in satisfaction.

"What are you talking about?" Klaus asked—demanded—still struggling to reign his temper in. Those unfocused eyes turned to survey him, as though they were only acknowledging his presence now and surprised to come across him, and as a serene smile spread over Rider’s lips, he almost regretted questioning her. Klaus had forgotten how irritating the girl could be, and, what was worse, how confusing.

"The strong seal surrounding you is messing with my ability to pick up your aura and reach your side directly.“ Rider stated in a calm matter-of-fact tone of voice. Her eyes did not refocus for even a moment. "Turns out this is actually almost as effective as a cloaking spell in regards to my traveling. If it wasn’t for the fact that the perimeter dampening your magical presence is rather small, that is. A couple of meter—or is it feet here? I never did get the hang of other measures of length besides my own, you would have to talk to Krista about that—is hardly a large enough block to keep me from reaching you. It’s an unconventional way to hide you, a bit of a crude job, of course, but fascinating all the same.“

Furiously suppressing the urge to strangle the irritating woman—not that he could, Rider did keep a safe distance towards that godforsaken Bennett witch's trap—Klaus couldn’t quite stop his rising amusement from trickling through the fog of _anger_ and _hate_ and _kill_ his mind had turned into. The girl had always been a bit too likeable for her own good.

In the end, Klaus decided to ignore her speech—as fascinating as Rider's teleporting ability was, if he let her distract him, they wouldn’t get to the matter at hand before Elijah arrived in town. And _no way in hell_ would he allow his brother to have all the fun. He was still a little sore about Elijah’s killing spree in Prague a couple of centuries ago. Gentleman or not, his brother never did have the manners to leave some of his victims alive for his siblings to play with.

"Can you break the seal?" Klaus cut straight to the chase, even as he watched Rider’s gaze flicker across the room, occasionally halting on one spot of thin air or another, until she suddenly twisted her body around and took a few steps towards the kitchen. Knowing she had just discovered—Kol.

"Whoever did this might lack finesse, but definitely not power,“ Rider muttered distractedly. "It might not hide you sufficiently, but getting you out is another matter altogether.“

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Klaus mentally debated whether it would be worth the effort to try and explain that the seal wasn’t supposed to hide him at all, and did, in fact, exactly what it had been created for. In the end, he decided not to bother. If there was one thing witches always were, it was opinionated.

"The seal’s strength is bound to the moon,“ Rider continued obliviously, not even bothering to turn around. Instead, she took a few steps into the kitchen, and kneeled down next to his brother’s unmoving form. "It’s going to collapse on its own in three to five days, depending on several factors I have no control over.“

Rider stood equally as sudden, her movements jerky as she turned her back on the macabre scene, her expression shifting from absent-minded to dead serious. Noticing her left hand disappearing into the pocket of her much too large coat, Klaus opened his mouth to call her out on it, but she interrupted before he had the chance. "I can try to undo the seal, but it would take everything I have, and I only have a sixty per cent chance of success. This,“ she reached out, and traced something with her index finger even his sharp eyesight could not detect, "is wild magic in all its terrible beauty. Nothing but brute force is going to bring it down. Which means a lot of needlessly wasted resources.“

As usual, the girl was practical to the point of moral…ambiguity, at best. Rider had a way of judging a situation purely by economic standards, instead of moral or legal ones, and Klaus could already see new plans and ideas swirl behind her eyes. It were moments like these that proved him right in his decision to keep Rider around.

"So, K-Man,“ Rider sat down on the floor across him with a light smile, like they had met up for tea and a bit of pointless gossip. "Tell-“

"Did you just call me K-Man?“

Rider raised an eyebrow. "Why, yes. I did. It’s good to see that your old age isn’t catching up with you.“

"Don’t get cocky, witch!“ Klaus growled. Never had a invisible barrier been so irritating. Well, perhaps a few minutes ago, when it had stopped him from killing the damn Gilberts.

"Wouldn’t dream of it.“ Rider smirked, which really wasn’t helping his temper. He half-suspected—half-knew for certain—that was exactly why she did it.

"Why K-Man?“ Klaus knew he was going to regret asking, but his cursed curiosity wouldn’t allow him to let the matter drop.

"Well…“ Rider regarded him with a sad sigh, a grave expression on her face, as though she was mentally preparing herself to be the bearer of terrible news. "You’re name is _Klaus_. And I’m sorry to tell you this but-“ coughing awkwardly the girl hastily continued, rushing the words out as fast as possible. "In Germany Klaus isn’t exactly a fear-inspiring name, you know? It’s an exemplarily case for the Most Unepic Villain Name Phenomena™ my sister is currently investigating in her free time. So we decided to give you another name, except Krista insisted we couldn’t call you Nikolaus or Father Christmas—it would have been the perfect code name, of course, very inconspicuous, but she felt it wasn’t very dignified, and after the incident with my second cousin writing you a unexpectedly suggestive standing novation, mother banned those names from the house—so she suggested X-Man—you know, a shorter version of Christmas Man, because nobody would have suspected that one either—but I studied the copy right laws extensively and it just wasn’t worth the fine, not to mention that it’s an insult to our own creativity, so we finally agreed on K-Man.“

Klaus blinked. He could feel a headache building behind his temples. It were moments like these that proved him right in his decision to always keep an ocean between Rider and him.

"But anyway.“ Rider changed the topic with a sheepish grin and the subtlety of a pissed off Rebekah. "Tell me what you want, and I think of a way to make it happen.“

Klaus regarded the girl with a cool look. Rider was almost always serious, even when she was babbling nonsense, which was the main reason few people thought to give her a second glance. But she was also brilliant in that she relied on loopholes more than brute strength and took the phrase 'thinking outside the box' to a whole new, dizzying level of absurd genius.

It helped that even centuries old vampires, who really should know better, tended to underestimate a barely of age kid, who thought a worn-out coat, a pink Hello Kitty pyjama, and polka-dotted, mismatching socks were a suitable battle attire.

*

"To sum everything up: A group of whiny, tragic hero teenies killed your brother with a stroke of luck and a special stake, and now you want revenge.“ Rider nodded, projecting the calm aura of someone who hadn't expected anything less. "The aforementioned group of teenies consist of one off-the-rails witch-bitch, an even more insane and possibly pedophile professor, the real vampire version of Edward and Jacob as brothers, a male Buffy impostor, a little lap dog you involuntary let off the leash, a bloodsucking cheerleader and the third update of a two-timing sacrifice lamb.“

Klaus' lips twitched at some of the descriptions Rider gave. It occurred to him suddenly that maybe he had been lucky to get a tame nickname like K-Man after all.

"Hm." The girl hummed, placing her chin on top of her folded hands. "If nothing else, this certainly promises to be more interesting than losing another round of three dimensional chess against Krista. That girl takes the phrase _It’s only cheating if the other one’s doing it_ to a whole new level.“

Straightening her back a bit, Rider eagerly clapped her hands. "What kind of revenge did you have in mind exactly? Just killing them all off or do you want to make them suffer? Do you or any of your siblings have dibs on any of them? Someone you plan to leave alive? And no offence intended, but can we cut this short? The death of an Original releases strong amounts of magical residues, and,frankly, this house _reeks_ of death.“ She wriggled her nose in distaste.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Klaus, for the first time, turned his mind towards the actual act of revenge. Or, more precisely, how he could reach a maximum effect on them all. "Neither me nor my siblings should kill the baby hunter, if it’s in any way avoidable. I’d rather not deal with another hundred years of mental torment, and, as long as we get the stake, he won’t be a danger to us any more. Then again, he was the one who killed Kol... No, they all need to die, although we can take our time with some of them.“

Rider nodded encouragingly, causing Klaus to blink in surprise when he realised she had pulled out a note pad from somewhere and was penning everything he said down. Or maybe she was playing Tic Tac Toe, from his position it was hard to tell. He decided not to think too much about it, the girl was bound to give him a massive headache either way.

"I also suspect that my sister will want to deal with her boytoy herself,“ Klaus added after a moment of contemplation. Yes, Rebekah would never forgive him if he took the younger Salvatore from her before she had finished _playing_ with him. And somehow he doubted that Stefan would survive the fun. As for Elijah, it was much harder to tell which one of the Scooby Gang he would regard as the prime offenders, but then Elijah had always been a difficult one to predict. There was a reason why his oldest brother had avoided his dagger for so many centuries, after all.

"That would be the Edward-Jacob rerun, I assume.“ Rider smiled grimly, a sight that Klaus would have considered disturbing if he wasn’t, well, the infamous hybrid. "Good, good. The world could have done without the first pair, there’s no reason their doubles should be allowed to exist any longer than strictly necessary.“

A few moments—in which he resumed his impatient pacing—passed in silence. Rider occasionally tapped thoughtfully against her chin and wrote something down, only to cross another word out again. Klaus shot a gaze at the clock on the wall. It had been almost two hours since he had called Rebekah, plenty of time for Elijah to make headway. But also two hours his enemies would have to regroup, a thought that darkened his mood considerably.

"Alright, I’ve got it,“ Rider finally announced. "It’s quite simple, really. In fact, I’m a little worried it’s too obvious, but in the unlikely event that they realise it before it’s too late, we’ll just have to improvise.“

"Go ahead,“ Klaus cut her off before she could go off on another irrelevant rant.

"Sir, yes, sir!“ —saluting included— "Basically, your two currently unsupervised siblings and little old me go on a hunt, while you sit down on that couch over there and make yourself comfortable. Anyone you like to kill or torture personally we toss into the seal, and then you have a few days of fun with them and they have no means of escaping.“

Klaus raised an eyebrow. "That does seem rather-“

"-brilliant in its simplicity, yes, I know. I also figured you would appreciate the irony of them being trapped in their own trap.“ Rider blinked at him innocently. "By the way, you didn’t happen to kill any of their friends or relatives lately, did you?“

"Well, I can’t say I keep track on all the people I kill, but I’m fairly sure the whelp hasn’t gotten over the unfortunate death of his mother yet.“ Klaus didn’t bother to conceal his satisfied smirk, which only widened at Rider’s snort. It was truly rare to find a witch who didn’t immediately preach about the value of life and whatnot. How refreshing. Kol would have certainly appreciate her, especially with the nick names she liked to hand out like free candy. To be honest, it was one of the many reasons why Klaus had ensured the two of them would never cross paths. One lose cannon was difficult enough to handle, there was no need for a little witch, who might still live for several decades, to fill his wild brother’s head with even more questionable ideas. Klaus honestly wasn’t sure whether the world would have survived them.

"In that case, maybe you can do some of the work after all,“ Rider said, the deadly smile looking strangely out of place on her young features. "Considering you’re trapped in here, a few of them might come by to gloat. I’m sure you’ll find an opportunity to trick them into crossing the barrier. And it never hurts to thin the enemy’s lines before the final confrontation.“ She winked at him and slowly got to her feet again, stretching her tense muscles and shaking her arms wildly.

Klaus found himself staring at the tiny girl, unable to decide whether she should be allowed to live after this ordeal. For all that he appreciated her carelessness in the face of death and murder, it also made her much less predictable and far more dangerous than many other witches he had crossed paths with before. Even the Bennett witch had only become a true threat after she had abandoned her skewed morals and lost herself in whatever dark magic she was currently drinking in.

"Anyway, the stench here is making me sick, so I’ll best be on my way before one of your siblings gets themselves killed because they don’t understand the principle of guerrilla wars,“ Rider said brightly and pulled a small, rectangular shape from the right pocket of her coat.

"Here.“ Klaus caught it reflexively and stared at the mobile phone in his hands with a surprised look. "I suspected you might need a new one.“ Rider sent him a knowing look before her eyes glazed over and lost the focused gleam they had held during their entire conversation.

"I best get going then. Have fun with your guests, K-Man.“ And with those words Rider skipped towards the door of the Gilbert house, only to suddenly disappear without a sound in mid-skip.

Staring after the strange girl, Klaus couldn’t help but imagine how the meeting between Elijah and Rider would turn out. It was a shame he was going to miss it, he concluded as he dialled Rebekah’s number on the foreign phone to warn her of the pink-clothed nightmare he had just released upon the unsuspecting populace of Mystic Falls. It was sure to be memorable.

*

"I don’t care how many people it takes, I want that blockade! You’ve got sixteen hours!“ Klaus hissed into the phone and promptly hung up. He had seen some of Rider’s work first hand, but when dealing with the doppelgänger and her friends it was always better to have a back-up plan, just to be sure. After all, it wouldn’t do for those _children_ to run off and get their hands on the cure while he was incapacitated. He would never hear the end of it if that happened, Rebekah would make sure of it.

Having just finished his second call to one of his closest connections—geographically speaking— an old warlock that owed him a favour or ten, Klaus turned towards the still open door, when his senses picked up the sound of two approaching people.

He frowned.

Rebekah should still be busy—he had been very explicit in his instructions, once she had calmed down from her little tantrum and he had promised her the doppelgänger's life—and he doubted that Elijah would bring any company. His sister had a way of making their oldest brother drop everything and race to her rescue, a habit which Kol had never failed to make fun of, naturally.

His thoughts were interrupted only a few seconds later, when his enhanced hearing picked up on a murmured conversation. Klaus immediately rose from his seat on the surprisingly comfortable couch when he recognised the voices, and an expression of pure anticipation slid over his features before he schooled his face into a blank mask. It was bad enough that his siblings and a little witch got to do most of the work, he was going to make the most out of this.

*

By the time his guests— _future victims_ has such negative connotations—stepped through the front door, Klaus had already returned to his seat, propping his feet on the other end of the couch, and appearing for all the world like he was simply enjoying an episode of _The Big Bang Theory._ A far cry from the disheveled, grieving lunatic they had no doubt expected.

_Always keep you opponent off-balance_ , Klaus vaguely remembered Finn telling him once. That had been a very, very long time ago. And yet the advice was as accurate as it had always been.

Carefully keeping a satisfied smirk off his face, Klaus took the time to observe his visitors. Tyler, his first hybrid creation—and, perhaps, his greatest disappointment—strolled into the house with the smug air of someone, who had defeated his enemy and was now going to rub everyone’s nose into his apparent victory. His death wouldn’t be a loss, Klaus thought with a surprisingly small amount of bitterness. Nor had the whelp deserved the honour of being turned. His only show of strength had been his ability to break the sire bond, but that triumph had turned the boy arrogant and over-confident in his own abilities.

Following in the wake of the foolish pup he had allowed to run wild, Caroline Forbes entered the room. Her posture was straight and proud as always—it was that inner strength he saw on display now, that had initially drawn him to her, and it was the same strength that had made him wonder what she ever saw in the little lap dog, as Rider had so aptly named him—but much less confident than her companion. She looked uncomfortable at best, and Klaus could read the conflict in her eyes as effortlessly as an illuminated exit sign.

Klaus stared at her intently, his face revealing none of his emotions, even as his thoughts raced. He was a killer, always had been, and he never pretended otherwise. With her though. With her, he hadn’t pretended, exactly, but he had tried to prove himself. To prove, that there was more to him than just the monster people whispered about. It had started as an attraction—and she had hardly been the first—but when she continued to refuse him, it had turned into a challenge. A game. Klaus always did have trouble abandoning a game. Unfinished business did have a habit of coming back to bite you. And yet, by continuing to play he had allowed this _insignificant child_ to turn into a deadly threat against his family. It was a mistake, and Klaus did _not_ make mistakes.

Taking in the way Caroline Forbes avoided direct eye contact and the smile on her lips tightened into something closer to a frown, Klaus, for the first time, actively acknowledged the part of his mind, that catalogued her weaknesses with the intention to use them against her. She had turned from a passing interest into a lose end, and a Mikaelson didn't leave lose ends behind. Stefan Salvatore had been one, and look how that had turned out.

Watching her with the eyes of a man, who had spent hundreds of years observing and studying humanity, it was hardly a challenge to pick out her most obvious weakness. She pitied him. But her pity would not bring back Kol. Her pity would not change anything, except making her vulnerable. In the end, her pity would bring her death.

*

Both, his amusing conversation with Rider and the fact that a few hours had already passed since Kol’s demise, had succeeded in calming Klaus’ rage from the white, hot anger to something dark and cold, simmering just beneath the surface of his fragile self-control, eagerly waiting to be unleashed.

It was most likely the only thing that kept him from rushing against the erected barrier in blind fury, when the little whelp started to mock him. Instead, Klaus managed to keep his face free of any expression, his entire body frozen in its previously relaxed position, in the considerably straining effort to keep himself from following his instincts to _attack_ , _tear_ , _destroy_.

"Damn it, he looks even uglier in death than he did in life!“ The whelp laughed—he was the only one—as he hived Kol’s body from the ground.

The silence thickened.

"I mean, seriously, had I known it would be that easy to get rid of the git, I would have done this ages-"

Klaus could almost feel what little was left of his patience leaving him at an alarming pace, giving way as easily as the soft material of the armrest  under his clenched fingers. It was the only outward sign that he had even registered the baiting words—so far. The only thing keeping him seated was the strong sense of disappointment he could almost smell from the whelp. It was a close thing though. Thankfully the blond wench—the dead had no need for names, after all—choose that moment to intervene, allowing him some time to regain his composure.

"Ty," the wench interrupted, wide eyes pleading. " _Please_."

Surprisingly—or not so much—that was all it took to make the whelp snap.

"Really?" Whirling around, the whelp snarled at her, all traces of amusement gone. "You’re going to defend him? _Him_?"

Clearly he was still a sore spot, Klaus noticed with no small amount of vindication. It was good to know he had managed to drive such a wedge between them—not that it had taken all that much effort. Honestly, if the boy thought all it would take for his little girlfriend to leave him were a couple of presents, then he had probably been doing the two of them a favour. Not that it mattered anymore, of course, but still. Had things gone differently, he might have sent that irritating doppelgänger a few trinkets, expensive and tasteful of course. It wasn’t like he lacked the money to do it, and the reaction of the Salvatores would have certainly been amusing. Too bad he had passed that chance up some time ago, it would have been quite a treat.

Cocking his head to the side, Klaus watched the High School drama (technically it was college drama now, but he inwardly assured himself that all participants lacked the necessary maturity for that) unfold before him.

The wench stumbled a step back, obviously unprepared for the sudden aggression directed at her. "That wasn’t what I meant…" Her voice trailed off. It was a weak countenance, and she knew it.

"Oh yes?" The whelp growled, his eyes taking on an unholy, yellow shine. 

Sometimes, Klaus mentally noted, the divide and conquer principle was far to easy to evoke. No wonder he usually didn’t bother with delicacies like that, it was far too simple to keep him entertained, much less challenged.

"Then what exactly did you mean, Caroline? Care to explain that?"

"I’m not defending him! All I’m trying to say is that his brother just died and-"

"Yes, his unpredictable, murderous brother got killed. Just like my mother a few weeks ago! Just like my father almost two years ago! Just like the other hybrids! But of course, let’s pay our respect to the Original, who made all our lives miserable, and forget about all the people this fucking family gets killed on a daily basis! Forgive me for enjoying this moment after all the lives they destroyed!"

"I-"

Klaus watched the arguing pair carefully, keeping track of their every movement. If one of them were to accidentally cross the barrier, well. They would live to regret their mistake, but not for long. And he refused to let a possible opportunity go to waste, especially with their attention focused on each other. What had it been that Rider had told him about the motto of her _Klan_?

 _Distract, deflect and deceive_.

 

Ironically Klaus had allowed the wench to do exactly that. The distraction part at least. But no more. His family’s blood had been spilled, and the Mikaelsons were an old family. Murder was punished with death, nothing more and nothing less. An eye for an eye was a fairly simple principle. He was sure even the dimwitted inhabitants of Mystic Falls understood that. Or at least had understood it at one point. Maybe Klaus would have to teach them.

"Enough, Tyler!" the wench finally snapped, some of her fire leaking through the cracks. "I’m not going to have this conversation right here, right now!"

"Oh, please do not stop on my accord." Klaus sent the pair his best, benevolent smile, which quickly morphed into a mocking smirk as he met the whelp’s gaze. "I’m just starting to enjoy the show."

The whelp opened his mouth, probably to stain his brother’s memory with another ill thought-out insult, but the wench stepped in once again.

"Just get the body out, Tyler!" she commanded. "We’ll talk later."

She gave him a particularly hard shove, causing the whelp to stumble towards the door. But—to the surprise of everyone—he bounced off the door with a groan of pain. The wench gasped. Klaus blinked.

Well. This was unexpected.

"What?!“ The whelp dropped Kol’s body—the blatant display of carelessness yet another mark against him—to turn back towards the door, and tried once again to cross the threshold. But instead of passing through like he should have been able to, an invisible barrier kept him inside, refusing to cave under his pounding fists. After overcoming the first moment of shock, the wench reached out, only for her hands to meet an unmoving resistance.

"But-But Bonnie said she locked him into the living room!" the wench finally stated, disbelief dripping from her every word as confusion slowly turned into dawning horror. "This shouldn’t be possible!"

But even as she spoke, Klaus could see the growing doubt in her eyes, darkening them with worry and the first seeds of fear. He supposed it wasn’t much of a surprise. All the members of his family had at one point or another commented on the growing issues regarding the Bennett witch, and he seriously doubted that her friends had missed her descend into madness, never mind her slipping control on her dangerous power.

It was fortunate, of course, to know how little confidence they truly had in their most powerful asset. As it was, Klaus was very much aware of the truth. The Bennett witch had, in fact, locked him into this room. He had after all spent several minutes testing the exact boundaries, and it was highly unlikely that she had put up a second block after the first. Especially since Rider would have sensed it.

Rider on the other hand…

Klaus kept his face impassive as he considered it. The girl had spent an awfully long time sitting cross-legged on the floor, only to come up with the simplest, most obvious solution available. Setting up another blockade would have taken some time, but she would have been able to do it fairly covert—as she preferred her magic to act in general—and it would be exactly the kind of thing Rider would think of. Set up a second barrier to trap any potential visitor in the house, and have them blame each other for their misfortune. Not to forget that such barriers were rather simple to raise and did not require much power, especially as they didn’t need to hold the Original Hybrid, only some fairly young vampires.

"Not so secure of yourself now, are you, mate?" Klaus finally decided to remind them of his presence. Keep them off-balance. Don’t let them think things through. Don’t allow emotions to succumb to logic. "What, no comment? No reminder of my _ravenous beast of a brother that should have been put down a long time ago_? Please, continue to entertain me." He bit the words out like poison, eyes as black as the night, save for their unsettling, golden gleam.

"Not so loud-mouthed now that your only means of escape are blocked, are you?“ Klaus laughed cruelly as their eyes widened in horror at his implication. "But don’t worry, you still have some time left." It was a lie. Klaus would have thought that obvious, but his reputation in this town must have suffered more than he thought, because the wench relaxed a little.

"After all,“ he continued, crossing his ankles for show, and sent them a chilling smirk. "All good things come to those who wait."

*

Twelve minutes. That was the time the whelp and the wench wasted, arguing in hushed voice—which was a completely useless endeavour, _honestly_ —as they tried to decide what to do, and, more importantly, what he could be planning.

It took them three minutes longer than Klaus had estimated. He really was more out of practice than he had thought. Still, the end result was the same.

As the argument between the pair of children turned once again explosive—Klaus wasn't sure what exactly had caused the downward spiral, it wasn’t like he could be expected to constantly monitor their relationship—the wench turned her back on the boy with a frustrated huff and dropped down on the seat farthest away from him. Farthest away, perhaps, but still within the second barrier she had no idea existed.

Klaus suppressed a smile, but forced himself to wait for the whelp to follow his little girlfriend. _Patience_. The boy was a little more distrustful, though that might have less to do with common sense and more with his jealousy issues. Whatever the reason, he stayed in the entrance hall and settled for glaring darkly at Klaus. It wasn’t a very effective glare, all things considered. The whelp’s resistance was an annoyance, but Klaus had a few days to get him to cross the second barrier. It wasn’t like he running out of time. Besides, he had leverage now. If it came down to it, he could force the boy’s compliance, one way or another.

The wench-turned-leverage had crossed her arms in front of her and glared at the floor, looking for all purposes like a sulking child. And yet every time their eyes met, the frustration left her and was once again replaced by _pity_. It was more irritating than the whelp’s laughable attempts at intimidation, and Klaus briefly contemplated ripping her heart straight out of her chest, just to get the whole matter over and done with. But no. He couldn’t allow his only chance of entertainment to die so quickly. Besides, as far as he was concerned, a clean, quick death was a mercy neither of his fellow prisoners deserved.

"Klaus," the wench suddenly said, interrupting his contemplations before he could delve too deep into the blood-thirsting state of mind he was currently trying to avoid. "I’m sorry about Kol."

Klaus didn’t bother replying, didn’t acknowledge that she had spoken at all. Her blue eyes were open and sincere, but that didn’t change anything. Her apology, no matter the spirit in which it was offered, meant nothing to him.

Although her words weren’t completely worthless. If only because they riled the whelp up yet again—honestly, Klaus wasn’t sure if the boy had ever calmed down in between his outbursts—and he stalked angrily towards her.

"First you defend him and now-" he never managed to finish his sentence. The second he crossed the line of the second barrier, Klaus held his upper body in an uncomfortably tight grasp. With one well-practiced kick he shattered the whelp’s left knee cap. An injury he knew from experience to be quiet painful, not to mention that it took a relatively long time to properly heal.

Dark satisfaction swelled inside his chest as bones gave under the sudden pressure, and muscles were brutally pulled apart and _twisted_. The pained cry his victim uttered was a thing of beauty, perhaps only outshone by the wench’s fearful scream.

Handling the whelp required little effort. He was like a limb puppet in Klaus hands. A twisted arm behind the boy’s back was all it took to force him into an upright position. Kept his hostage between himself and the shocked wench before she had the chance to recover and attack him as well. Klaus tightened his grip, basked in the helpless whimpers the pathetic waste of space made as his shoulders were bent too far.

"Stop!" The wench yelled, tears glittering in her eyes. They looked prettier like that, the blue colour highlighted in a way her make-up failed to achieve. It was a beautiful sight. Devastation always was.

Klaus' only response towards her foolish command—and how _dare_ she command him in any way—was a sickening crack that echoed in the otherwise silent house, almost like the setting of a horror movie. For the first time since his guests had first arrived, Klaus didn’t bother to suppress his smile. It was a genuine one, tainted with blood, and hunger, and _more_ , but still genuine.

"No, love, I don’t I will," Klaus answered the girl’s ridiculous demand after a moment of thoughtful silence. "I am only just starting to enjoy this little get-together, after all. It would be shame to put an end to it so quickly.“ He gave the stiff form in his arms a calculating look. "I wonder how loud I can get you to scream… Well, no time like the present.“ And with those words, Klaus pulled the whelp’s shoulder out of its socket with a simple tug.

Sadly, the raging wench was on him before he could properly savour the boy’s scream. Klaus had to drop the whelp to defend himself. In retaliation, he buried his teeth viciously in the wench's throat, probably slashing a few arteries while he was at it, before his mind could catch up with his actions. With a disgusted frown, Klaus pushed her away. Venom still dripping from shiny lips, he watched unsympathetically as she crumbling to the ground.

He had injected far too much poison for her to last the full four days inside this prison. In fact, Klaus doubted she would make it past a couple of hours. How annoying. The whelp would have to keep him entertained for longer than Klaus had initially planned. Still, he had lived long enough to pick up a torture technique or five thousand. He would make due. Actually, he planned to make it _memorable_.

His brother deserved nothing less.

*

Klaus took a small step back to admire his newest masterpiece. His still living—if only barely—masterpiece. And wasn’t that unexpected? Who would have thought his self-control would be strong enough to withstand the steadily growing desire to cut the boy’s head off? 

Taking in the hunched, bloody form of one of the more recent pains in his ass, Klaus allowed himself a moment of pure appreciation for his own artistic talent. After he had gotten tired of breaking bones and tearing flesh—the screams never failed to cheer him up, but there were only so many times you could pulverise the bones in someone’s extremities without becoming repetitive—he had broken one of the large windows of his little prison. 

The shards had been used to engrave creative patterns into his victim's skin. It had taken Klaus a while to get the hang of it, human skin was a bit more resistant than a canvas, but luckily the boy healed fast, allowing him to start anew every few minutes. It had the added advantage of bleeding the whelp dry very, _very_ slowly, further weakening him.

Predictably, the wench had tried to protect her boy toy. Her pathetic attempts at resistance had led to Klaus breaking her spine every couple of minutes, sometimes crushing her sternum as well, just because he could. But about two hours ago, his venom had overwhelmed the girl. She wasn’t dead yet, she was far too weak to do anything, but lie on the ground and occasionally moan in pain. If he didn’t have the foresight to keep the whelp in too much pain to be coherent, Klaus would have probably have to put up with some dramatic Romeo and Juliet talk. And lots of pointless accusations he lacked the patience for.

As it was, the room had fallen into blessed silence while he tried to decide what his next surprise was going to be. In the last years, Klaus had become so used to simply getting rid of any annoyance, he had completely forgotten how satisfying the hard, long way towards death could be when you were the one paving the way. It was an oversight he didn't plan to make again.

"Why do you even bother?" The wench spoke suddenly—Klaus hadn’t even realised she was still conscious. Her words so faint, he would not have picked them up if not for his enhanced senses.

He turned to look at the girl dying at his feet—who was remarkable at peace with her fate, it seemed. Too at peace, perhaps. It was high time to change that.

"Torture is hardly a bother, love," Klaus replied with his most condescending smirk. Maybe he should cut the boy's toes off next. Their bodies healed fast, but even a hybrid couldn’t regrow a lost limb. Of course, it took usually just a very basic spell from a witch to reattach it, but it wasn’t like the whelp would live long enough for that to happen. Or should he start with the fingers?

"It’s just pain though." The wench coughed, shudders racking her overheated body. "Horrible in the moment it may be, but it won’t _last_." There was still fire in her eyes, an intelligence and understanding that had at one point piked his interest.

"True," Klaus admitted. He picked up one of the larger glass shards that wasn’t quite as sharp as its smaller counterparts. "But contrary to popular belief, you can’t actually get used to pain. Certain measures can help building your tolerance up, but only to a point.“ He would know, he had spent centuries trying after all. "You would be surprised how long pain can _really_ last."

But the wench only shook her head, or tried to, another whimper escaping her raw-bitten lips. "It’s still just pain. Pain, we’ll _survive_."

Klaus raised an eyebrow in silent question, earning himself a weak smile from the wench.

"You’re not going to kill us.“ There was no arrogance or misplaced sense of superiority in that statement, but her quiet certainty fuelled the flames of his hatred more than the stupid child could possibly realise. She—they all—were so convinced of their eventual victory, of their survival, and it sickened him that he had involuntary helped build those illusions. But no more! The wench would never know it, but it was in that instance that her fate was sealed.

"And what exactly is going to stop me?" Klaus mocked. Stared her straight in the eyes as he raised his arm and pushed the glass into the whelp’s hand, cutting of his ring finger in the process. The whelp screamed yet again, _raw_ , _desperate_ , _beautiful_.

Klaus observed the way the wench’s face darkened, the way she flinched as the boy she _loved_ was tortured in front of her, but she still held her head high—or as high as possible, considering that she was lying on the floor—defiance in her every expression.

“Because this isn’t you! You are not a monster!“ she declared heatedly. “You love me and you are so much better than this! You won’t spare us for me or for Tyler’s sake, you’re going to do it for _yourself_!“

For a moment Klaus simply stared at the wench, conviction burning like fire in her eyes, and then he did the only thing he could: he threw his head back and _laughed_.

*

It took another seven fingers being creatively removed from the whelp's body before Klaus could see the wench’s faith wavering. The whelp, sadly, was in no condition to share his own beliefs regarding his situation. In fact, if his body wasn’t as regenerative as it was, he would have been unconscious for most of the procedure. Which would have been a pity.

By this point, the girl’s hallucinations came frequently, though her sobs and anguished calls didn’t tell Klaus a lot about what exactly she was seeing. The fact that she suffered would have to be enough. Hopefully, Kol would understand.

 _"Please_ ," the wench whimpered, pathetically and weak, even as her eyes focused on him once more.

This one word snapped Klaus’ carefully maintained mind-set of clinical precision and hollow calm. Because. He could _see_ the scene flash before his eyes. Felt the blazing flames burning in his skin. Heard Kol’s screams of anguish echoing in every step he took, every whisper in the chilling air.

 _Kol_.

"You cost me my brother.“

The words lingered between them, neither an apology nor an accusation. It was a fact that could not be changed, nor could it be forgiven.

Klaus pinned the whelps hands to the floor—literally, of course. The responding whine was satisfying, but it would _never_ be enough. Not even the bloody death of every person involved could sufficiently soothe this wound. But it was a start.

Kneeling down besides the dying girl he might have loved—might still love, just not enough, never enough, to forgive his brother’s fate—Klaus settled down to watch. Observe her last moments. He refused to turn his head away, refused to reach out to her. Refused to do anything but watch, as the life slowly bled from her eyes.

 _It might not be a bloodbath yet_ , Klaus acknowledged when he finally rose again, turned his back on yet another corpse, another face of the past he wouldn’t care to remember a few days from now. Turned towards the only other living occupant of the house, who was lying helplessly on the ground, his face a lovely mask of horror and disbelief.

_But it was a start_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? I'd love to hear your opinion on Klaus' part in the revenge! And ideas and inspiration for the rest of the gang are of course always welcome! :)
> 
> Next up: Rebekah


	3. Part II Regroup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They squabbled like children, never had a good word to say about each other. They betrayed each other, turned their backs on each other with no warning. They lied, and they left, and the fought, until nothing but blood and spit remained. Most days Rebekah wanted to push a dagger into their hearts, and throw their bodies into the bloody ocean, but at the end of the day, they were her brothers. Always and forever.

> _It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it._
> 
> —Friedrich Nietzsche

**Rebekah**

There was something incredibly satisfying about nailing your disappointment of an ex’s hands to the floor with your high heels. Rebekah always had a deep appreciation for the many ways in which woman’s fashion could be adapted, turned into deadly weapons with hardly a thought. Thin heels, clunky rings, dangling earrings, fans with hidden daggers inside… Torture delivered by a device meant to accentuate a woman’s beauty was an art all on its own.

Her brothers’ had never really shared her appreciation—of course they didn’t make it a habit to keep women around long enough to make use of their hidden depths—but they had learned to respect her results, if little else. Most of them through up and close, personal experience of her methods.

When it came down to business though, the Mikaelsons tended to be an old-fashioned family. It was Nik, who one of their shaky allies inevitably pissed off, causing him to throw a violent tantrum. It was Elijah, who handled negotiations and death sentences in the same breath, with the serene calm of a man concerned with nothing but the deals he made. It was Kol, who eventually got bored playing nice and decided to paint the town red just because he could. And it was Rebekah, who watched her brothers’ antics with her eyebrows raised in disdain and a complaint about the blood on her newest dress already on the tip of her tongue.

It was annoying sometimes, her elder brothers’ reluctance to include her in their bloodier activities. A remnant of their lives as humans perhaps. Of the endless centuries in which women were to be shielded from the cruel, cruel world. Not that Rebekah had any innocence left to protect, she was well-aware of that. She had been a monster for so much longer than she had been a human, really, what did they expect? And yet, Nik’s roundabout protectiveness reared its head at the most inconvenient of times, and Elijah had never really taken her down from the pedestal he’d put her on.

Kol. Well, Kol had been the exception. _He always is_ , Rebekah couldn’t help but think. Drew a shaky breath, lest she start crying again. Enough tears had been shed tonight, and if there was one thing she knew about her brother, it was that he wouldn’t appreciate her sobbing and wailing. Would, in fact, mock her for it with the same acerbic wit he had to spare for the rest of the world.

This, on the other hand? This, she knew would make him smile.

Rebekah took a step back to better survey Stefan’s body laid out before her. She’d snapped his neck, again, after she’d gotten sick of his pleas. His apologies that only poured oil on a raging fire. She had let him get this far. She had let him get close again, had trusted him again, despite the fact that he had given her no reason to. _Always with your bleeding heart, sister_ , Kol’s mocking voice echoed in her mind, a tease Rebekah had grown used to, a warning she’d learned to ignore.

She regretted that now. The same could not be said for the careful patterns she was burning into Stefan’s chest—convenient, really, that the water source in Mystic Falls appeared to be poisonous now. It was a a pity Stefan isn’t awake to appreciate her art—or Nik, for that matter, he’d always been the most artistic out of all of them—but he will soon enough. Rebekah had time. Elijah would need at least a few more hours to reach the town, and she wasn’t going to proceed without him. Not whilst there was still a white oak stake at large.

In the meantime—well, all her siblings had a weakness for playing games. Rebekah had learned early on to keep herself occupied.

 _Downright terrifying, sister mine,_ Kol’s voice whispered from the shadows of an old memory, back when they hadn’t yet fallen to the darkness growing in their hearts, _with everything we taught you, how could you not be?_

A moan of pain drew Rebekah’s attention back to the shoulder she was currently digging her fingers into. She put more pressure onto her grip for a moment, allowed her nails to sink just a little deeper, before finally pulling them out again. It wouldn’t do to ruin the wonderful job Cassandra had done so early in the game, after all.

For the second time this evening her contemplation was interrupted by her phone. An unknown number this time, but with everything that had happened, Rebekah didn’t even consider ignoring the call.

“Yes?”

“Where are you? Never mind—“ her brother growled, impatience dripping almost visibly through the speaker.

“Nik?” Rebekah determinedly pushed aside the single moment of hope that maybe this voice could belong to someone else, that maybe all his paranoia and resilience had payed off after all— “What happened to your phone?” she asked instead, desperate to keep her voice even. She had worked hard to calm down the first time, a second slip into hysterics would only waste more time.

“An unfortunate accident,” was the sharp reply she got, and, considering her brother’s temper, the only one she needed. “I’ve sent for a witch, it’ll be her job to keep the Bennett girl in line.”

“A witch?” Rebekah asked, unable to conceal her surprise. “Where did you hide her until now?” And there it was again, that age-old suspicion of foul play she wished she didn’t automatically associate with her brothers.

“Germany, a small town near Stuttgart,” Nik replied drily—and no, Rebekah did not feel guilty for questioning him. She already had enough to feel guilty about.

Still. “You _hate_ Germany,” she blurted out, unable to help herself. It was true after all. She’d been daggered at the time, of course, as were Kol and Finn. All Elijah had later told them was that he had already fallen out with Nik at that time, so none of them actually knew what happened—and something had to have happened. Nik adored Europe, yet nowadays he preferred to stay on a different continent.

“Yes,” Nik drawled. “In no small parts thanks to the witch I called. Now, shall we focus on avenging our brother’s death or continue wasting time rehashing old memories? A massacre worthy of a Mikaelson doesn’t plan itself, you know.”

Rebekah winced at the blunt reminder, but she really should have expected it. This was how Nik dealt—by turning even the most painful wound into a weapon to wield against his enemies.

“Rider—that’s the witch—will join you shortly. Do not move without her and Elijah, I mean it, Rebekah.” Nik’s voice was harder now, unforgiving. “This family has lost enough tonight, I will not bury another Mikaelson in this godforsaken town. Do you understand?”

Rebekah should probably be pissed about the macho overprotectiveness her brother was so prone to, but with Kol’s death clouding them, she couldn’t bring herself to give him any crap about it. “I’ll be careful, Nik,” she swore, and she meant it.

“Good.”

For a moment, they were both silent, stuck perhaps in the words they wanted to share but couldn’t bring themselves to say out loud. Then, with a pointed if unseen eye-roll because _men_ , Rebekah asked as light-heartedly as she could manage, “You said you had something special in mind for the Salvatores. Care to share, brother? Because I assure you, I’m enjoying myself very much right now, and I’d like to know why I’m holding back from _ripping his heart out and shoving it down the doppelgänger’s throat._ ”

The words made her blood boil. While they might have started out as a joke, Rebekah wanted that. She wanted to watch the life drain from yet another traitorous lover. She wanted to watch that doppelgänger bitch _break_. Nik laughed, a huff of air, and when he replied he sounded amused. He sounded _proud_. It always made Rebekah stand a little straighter when he spoke with her like that.

“As lovely as that sounds, I was thinking of something a little less direct. Think, Rebekah. What is the worst thing, the absolute worst thing you could make Stefan Salvatore do?” Nik’s voice deepened towards the end, a sign of his fraying control, no doubt.

For a moment, Rebekah stared straight ahead, deep in thought. Then she blinked—and smiled. “Of course I’ll have to bleed him dry first,” she grinned.

“Indeed.” Her brother’s smirk could be heard clearly in his voice. “Oh, and Rebekah? The doppelgänger is yours.”

Rebekah stilled, frozen in disbelief—because Nik, her Nik would never give up his hybrids, his chance at belonging, not for anyone, not even for her. But then, Kol always was the exception, wasn’t he? He’d always been at odds with everyone, always been sharper and more bitter than the rest of them—save for Finn, of course, who’d been daggered for such a long time, Rebekah still remembered him more as human than as a vampire.

Finn had been more of a ghost than a brother to her, but Kol. Kol had been real. And he’d been pushed aside, by all the years he’d been kept in a casket, all the shared moments he’d missed, their inability to properly reconnect after too much time had passed. It wasn’t fair. Their lives had never been fair, but Kol had deserved better.

And even if it was too little, too late, she’d do right by him. Apparently, they all would.

Rebekah smiled her first genuine smile since she’d learned of Kol’s death. “You always did give me the best gifts,” was the only thing she could say in reply.

“One more thing,” Nik continued. “The witch. Ask her how she calls me. If she says anything other than K-Man, rip her throat out. I refuse to take any more chances.” And without giving her a chance to react to that statement, Nik hung up.

Rebekah rolled her eyes. Why, exactly, had she been burdened with four brothers so intent on being dramatic? That was obviously her job.

And what kind of codeword was _K-Man_ anyways?

*

Funnily enough, the chosen codeword turned out to be the least strange thing about this particular witch. Rebekah had just cut through Stefan’s vocal cords—along with his throat, obviously—after she’d tired of his begging, and was now contemplating cutting his tongue out as well, when the witch appeared. And Rebekah meant the ‘appearing’ literal. As in out of thin air, with no warning.

Rebekah almost launched herself at the girl for that alone. Instead she slowly rose to her feet, eyes fixated on the more imminent potential threat. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but a young girl around her physical age and height, with dark blonde, unruly hair, wearing a raggy coat that didn’t quite conceal the long-sleeved Hello Kitty pyjama underneath and no shoes, just mismatching socks, wasn’t it.

“You must be Rebekah.”

“And you’re the witch Nik sent, then?” Rebekah asked with an arched eyebrow, keeping her face blank and expectant. As intolerable as the girl’s clothes were, for once, she really had bigger things to worry about.

The witch inclined her head slightly. “Apparently so.” She eyed Stefan’s form on the ground. Rebekah followed her gaze and frowned when she noticed that the wound had stopped bleeding already. Oh well, she’d just have to cut his throat again. What a shame, that.

“Really?” Rebekah asked lightly and let her favourite blade—a gift from Elijah—slide over Stefan’s throat again. And again. Just to be sure. Stefan made a gurgling sound of pain that made the witch grimace—though she didn’t turn away. “What do you call Nik then?”

The witch snorted. “I call _Nik_ a great many of things. Bastard, selfish asshole, insecure idiot, bloody moron, fucking Original, Klaus, Satan, Lucky-Ducky, K-Man, Nickle-Me-Klaus, Werepire…” the witch trailed off for a moment, before she shrugged. “I could go on.”

“ _Lucky-Ducky_?” Rebekah repeated incredulously, unable not to ask.

“Long story. For some reason K-Man doesn’t like to talk about it too much. You can call me Rider, by the way.” The witch approached them slowly, taking their time to eye Stefan up and down. “I’d offer my help, but you seem to have things well in hand.”

Rebekah narrowed her eyes, not willing to relax despite the calming air the witch eluded. “Rider isn’t your real name, I take it?”

The witch’s grin widened. “You’re perceptive, aren’t you? No, it’s not. It’s what K-Man calls me. I don’t make a habit of handing my real name out to Originals nilly-willy, you know.”

And well, Rebekah couldn’t fault her for that. Besides Nik wouldn’t have called her if he had any doubts about this witch’s alliance. His last warning was just his usual paranoia talking. “Make yourself comfortable then,” she decided. “We’re not gonna do anything until my brother joins us.”

“You’re certainly doing something.” Rider pointedly glanced at Stefan.

“What can I say?” Rebekah pulled Stefan’s head back by his hair and carved a nice Harry Potter scar into his forehead. The smile she sent Rider over her shoulder was almost angelic. “I bore easily. It’s a family trait.”

*

“Rebekah, please!” Stefan rasped out, straining against his constraints. It was impressive, really, that he hadn’t given up speaking yet, still trying to sway her. He was tenacious, Rebekah had to hand him that much. And if it also happened to prolong her fun, well, who was she to complain?

“I know he was your brother,” Stefan coughed, blood dripping down the corner of his mouth. It was a pretty sight. Rebekah wished she was allowed to enjoy it in peace. “And I know you’re hurting. But what you’re doing here isn’t going to bring him back, Rebekah.” His voice was softer now, though still roughened by all the screaming the past hour had involved.

Rebekah felt her grip on the blade tighten until a sharp pain rocked the blurry world back into focus. Staring unseeingly at her lap, her hands covered in blood, it took her a moment to realise that she’d cut her own palms open on the blade’s edge.

“You. Know. Nothing!” she hissed from behind clenched teeth, trembling with the force of her fury. The words cut through the red haze her mind had become, a sense of clarity that cut as sharp as her blade, but also calmed the raging storm within her.

 _It’s the truth_ , she realised, and wondered why, exactly, it had taken her this long to realise it. Stefan—he really had no idea. And yes, alright, Rebekah had never given him much reason to believe she was close with her brothers. Of course not, she _wasn’t_. They hadn’t been close in a long while. Too many secrets, too many lies, too many daggers to the heart, too many attempts to push back against Nik for once. They were but shadows of the family they used to be—and yet. They were still siblings. They were blood.

How could Stefan not know what that meant? How could he, having loved and hated Damon, having loved and hated himself, not understand that they were _everything_?

They squabbled like children, never had a good word to say about each other. They betrayed each other, turned their backs on each other with no warning. They lied, and they left, and the fought, until nothing but blood and spit remained. Most days Rebekah wanted to push a dagger into their hearts, and throw their bodies into the bloody ocean, but at the end of the day, they were her _brothers_. Always and forever.

They weren’t friends, barely even liked each other, but that was alright. Friends could turn on each other just as easily, become enemies before you realised you had crossed a line. But blood couldn’t be denied. In their world, blood was everything. And no matter the tears, and the pain, and the insults, and the backstabbing, nothing could ever change the fact that they were family.

 _Nothing_.

Having an older brother himself, Rebekah would have thought Stefan understood that. Apparently, she had been wrong. Or maybe Stefan had just never put that much thought into it. Never really stopped seeing them as The Originals and started to see them as a family. Maybe if he had, he would have realised the futility of his pleas. Would have understood the gravity of his mistake.

And to think that she had _loved_ him.

Rebekah snarled, her true face revealing itself for the first time since this nightmare had begun, and suddenly there was nothing angelic about her. There wasn’t meant to be—angels, she was sure, weren’t supposed to feel the depth of hatred burning like ice cold fire in her soul. So desperate to be released, so eager to _destroy_.

Monsters weren’t supposed to wear a pretty face. Monsters weren’t supposed to stare at her with pleading eyes, begging for a mercy they didn’t deserve. Of course, the whole world was made of monsters, shouldn’t she have learned this by now?

Rebekah clearly remembered how, back when she had her first real _woe is me, I am evil and deserve to suffer_ crisis—or, as Kol liked to call it, her Finn-phase—Kol had dragged her all over the country, determined to show her the evil in humans. One man in particular stood out in her mind, the horror of seeing the bodies of slaughtered children pinned against the wall like a bloody collection of puppets all too clear in her mind, even after all these centuries. _You don’t need to be a vampire, to be a psychotic maniac_ , Kol had quipped with a teasing smirk, _it’s just another push into that particular direction_.

With new vigour and the memory of her dead brother edging her on, Rebekah stared Stefan straight into the eyes and pushed her hand into his chest. He grunted in pain, body instinctively trying to curl into itself, to get away from the painful pressure that only got worse the longer it went on, but there was nowhere for him to go, and Rebekah relished in every whine and groan she could draw from him.

“You feel that?” she murmured, a mockery of an affectionate gesture, as her fingers closed around his heart. “That,” Rebekah squeezed, just a little, just to see the wild fear in Stefan’s eyes, “is the _least_ you owe me.”

By merits of a self-control Rebekah hadn’t been aware she possessed, she managed to extract her hand from Stefan’s chest without ripping his heart out in the process. It was tempting though. Far more tempting than murder had been in a long time. Maybe even since she’d first started to get the hang of controlling her bloodlust. That had been a messy time too.

Rebekah patted him on the slowly-healing wound, harder than necessary—which meant still lighter than the backstabbing bastard deserved.

“Remember how you kept asking me about that dagger, honey?” Rebekah asked after a short moment, to allow Stefan to catch his breath. Her voice was sugary sweet—the kind that might be poisonous, you simply don’t care until it’s far too late. “I wonder now…” Trailing a gentle hand over Stefan’s sweat- and blood-coated face like she’d done so many times before should hurt her—and it did. She’d loved him for years, and even though she’d fallen out of love at some point in this new century, she hadn’t let go of that dream of a shared future yet. Hadn’t wanted to let go.

But the pain was bearable, and she’d survive without him. More importantly, she’d live happier knowing she’d given Kol the eulogy he deserved, that was for sure. Dreams were for foolish girls with hearts too soft to make it in this world. Rebekah had thought she’d grown out of that girl by now—surely ten centuries were more than enough time to let go of lost childhood dreams?—and yet it struck her time and time again, the same lesson never truly learned.

Maybe that was part of the curse. Vampires didn’t age, everyone knew that. But Rebekah—who had spent a longer time living this life than anyone else in the world, save her brothers—had damn well noticed that it wasn’t just their outer appearance that remained unchanged. Being turned had affected them, yes, twisted them even. The unending thirst for blood, the new depth each emotion held—it was different than being human. After such a long time Rebekah was hard-pressed to say what, exactly, the differences were but they were there. Beyond those superficial changes though, they had remained the same.

And that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it? A thousand years of life, of experiences and knowledge should have changed them. They should have grown as people, even if their physical appearance didn’t reflect that. Yet Rebekah couldn’t help wondering if that was really what they had done, or if every moment lived hadn’t just added more information, more pain, more happiness to who they were. She wasn’t thinking like a thousand year old woman. Hell, she wasn’t even thinking like a sixty year old woman. Rebekah thought like a eighteen year old who had lived for a thousand years. There was a difference and _it_ _mattered_.

Rebekah scowled. That was one of those thoughts she rarely wasted time on, not sure if she even wanted to know the answer. It wasn’t like it would change anything. She was a vampire, and until people had suddenly thrown the cure into her face, she’d believed there was no way to ever change that. No point in lamenting her very nature.

The cure—it had seemed like the answer to all her problems. It reminded her of how good things had been when she’d still been human, how good _she_ had been back then.

 _We’re all addicts, Stefan!_ she remembered shouting not too long ago, back when Stefan’s obsession with the doppelgänger and his inability to come to terms with his past as a ripper had seemed like the biggest roadblocks in their relationship. _We’re all addicted to our pasts! Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about reaching out to Katherine when she first showed up! Don’t you dare say you’ve never looked at sweet Elena’s face and wanted to feel what you felt back then! Don’t you see? We’re all stuck, Stefan. Forever hunting what we can’t have, unable to lay the ghosts of our past to rest because we enjoy their haunting too much to let go!_  

It was true, Rebekah was an addict. And presented with a sudden, miraculous fix-all option, she had been blind to everything else. Had obsessed, had argued, had allowed herself to be manipulated because the price had seemed worth it at the time.

It hadn’t been. It never was. Ten centuries later, the weight of that particular life lesson still threatened to crush her like a heavy stone slamming down on an insignificant bug. Some things just didn’t change.

A weak hiss Stefan didn’t manage to conceal brought Rebekah’s attention back to the present. And her company, which she had so rudely ignored. What had she been talking about again? Oh, right. His obsession with the dagger she’d nicked.

“Tell me, Stefan,” she asked, her tone of voice still as saccharine as before, and all the more menacing for it. “Who did you really plan to use that dagger on, hm? Kol?” And god, but it killed her to say his name, burned brighter than vervain on her skin. “Or was it me? Did you perhaps need a way to put me down, after _murdering my brother_?”

Rebekah didn’t know what it was—maybe the way her voice trembled and broke, unprepared for the all-consuming hatred these words brought—but there was something in Stefan’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, something she’d wanted to see since she first started their little get-together.

Something like desolation.

“I didn’t know they would try and kill Kol,” Stefan swore, somehow forcing the words past his lips despite the world of pain he had to be in. It was too bad, really, that she couldn’t commend him for his strength anymore. Not after everything it had cost her. Still, his eyes were wide open and fixated on her. Searchingly, as though he was desperately trying to get Rebekah to see the truth through sheer willpower alone.

And he did. Stefan had never been able to lie to her.

“Oh, I believe you,” Rebekah said calmly. She didn’t, not really, but that wasn’t the point. She’d have questioned him otherwise, interrogated him, instead of simply scratching and cutting as she pleased. Nevertheless it was gratifying to see the relief flash over Stefan’s face, made all the sweeter by the knowledge of how thoroughly her next words were going to crush that last flare of hope.

Leaning forward until her lips were just barely brushing the shell of Stefan’s ear, Rebekah whispered softly, “ _I can’t believe you think that it would make a difference._ ”

*

“Not that this isn’t a fascinating lesson in _101 Ways To Torture Your Enemies_ ,” the witch commented a while later, just as Rebekah had re-shattered Stefan’s windpipe. “But if you don’t need me I _do_ have a life, you know.”

“I told you, we will wait for my brother!” Rebekah snarled, her own tightly-wired self-control snapping. Rider’s complaint reminded her of her own desperate need to finish this. Of how badly she wanted to wrap her hands around the doppelgänger bitch and squeeze the life right out of her. Of how much she yearned to rip the witch apart piece by bloody piece. Of—

Rebekah clenched her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath. And another one. And a third. Until the red haze dimmed, just a little, allowing room for rational thought. “You think I don’t long to end this?” she growled. “To crush those murderers’ spirits? To erase their meaningless existence? _They_ _killed my brother_! I want them punished, I want them broken and begging, and I want to _laugh in their faces_ when they do so more than anything in the world!”

The witch averted her eyes for a moment, before she cleared her throat. “Right. You know, I have a little sister,” she said lightly.

Rebekah sent her a glare that stated with unmistakeable clarity that she couldn’t care less. Rider simply shrugged and turned a page in the book on her lap.

“You should go bellow the belt next. And I mean that literally,” the witch commented off-handedly. But despite her relaxed appearance, there was something dark in her eyes that read almost like understanding.

Rebekah tilted her head in consideration.

*

It was quiet. Rebekah fidgeted. She’d snapped Stefan’s neck—again—in a moment of blind rage, but with how weak he was by now, it took him forever to wake up again. Torturing the unresponsive, unfortunately, just wasn’t the same.

Thankfully, her sensitive ears picked up the sound of approaching footsteps, too fast to belong to a human. “Someone is coming,” Rebekah stated and sank into a crouch, readying herself for a possible fight. The witch who’d been quietly reading, utterly undisturbed by Stefan’s screaming and pleading, snapped her book shut with a loud thud.

“Finally.”

And despite how much Rebekah had revelled in Stefan’s pain, she couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. Not when she knew all to well that Kol’s murderers were still walking free, unaware of the death sentence that had been signed in their name.

The steps were drawing closer now, and despite herself Rebekah relaxed. Just a little. She recognised that rhythm, a pattern so familiar, merely hearing it brought her comfort. A moment later her trusted instincts were proven right, and Elijah walked through the door.

Save for his slightly ruffled hair—from running too fast, Rebekah knew that particular telltale all too well—Elijah looked no more or less composed than usual. From his crisp suit to the calm expression on his face, no one would guess that he felt anything but vague curiosity as he took in the less than inspiring appearance of the little witch Nik had hired. But Rebekah knew her brother, knew him with an intimacy that came of hundreds of years spend with and far away from each other. And she saw the pain in his eyes, a pain she shared and understood far better than anyone. Safe for Niklaus, of course.

They had not just lost their brother today. They had lost the one brother they had failed, the one they had betrayed as often as he had betrayed them. They had lost every chance to make it right, every chance to make up for all those disappointments and daggers to the heart that stood between them.

In a way those betrayals hadn’t been a big deal. They always got even with each other one way or another, and it didn’t keep them from being family. Sure, Rebekah thought with a bitter smile, none of them trusted each other. But they still loved, they were still family, and they gave each other new chances time and again for that. Even Nik, who always took things so very personal, and Elijah, who might forgive but never forgot, fell prey to their inability to give up on a fellow Mikaelson.

It might be an unavoidable consequence of their shared history, their greatest weakness or the only thing that still kept them sane. Rebekah didn’t know. She didn’t care. All she cared about was that she’d become used to knowing she couldn’t lose her brothers, no matter what she did or said. And Elena Gilbert had taken that security from her. This whole cursed town had destroyed something too sacred for their pitiful minds to grasp.

And they would pay.

“‘Lijah,” Rebekah whispered, almost choked on the tears she’d thought she had long run out of as she rushed into his arms. He hugged her back just as tightly and it eased the last of the tension she hadn’t even been aware off, because this was as close to _I’m sorry, I forgive you_ as they ever got.

When was the last time she’d hugged Kol? When was the last time he allowed her to?

“I came as fast as I could,” Elijah murmured, the same soothing voice that had calmed her as a child, when Rebekah’d gotten sick. Nik had played with her whenever he’d been allowed, and Elijah had told her stories. Kol had stolen bits of her favourite food and entertained her with his magic. Finn had stroked her hair and assured her that she was too strong to let an illness put her down for long, a daughter of Mikael in blood and heart.

“I know,” Rebekah whispered. She hadn’t expected anything less, and hated herself a little for wondering whether Kol had. Had his doubts gone that far? Had they given him cause to believe they cared so little for him?

 _“This cure has ruined us, and it hasn’t even been found yet!”_ Kol’s furious words echoed in her mind. Except they weren’t quite true, were they? They had ruined themselves, long before the cure had ever become an issue. They just—hadn’t noticed until something had pushed them strong enough to _shove back_.

After an other long moment, Elijah cleared his throat and took a small step back. The simple action brought Rebekah back to the present, reminded her of what they still had to do. Funny, how ‘had to’ made it sound like such a burden, when, really, it was going to be her greatest pleasure.

“And who is your companion?” Elijah asked with a pointed glance towards the witch that was watching them calmly, the book she’d been reading nowhere to be seen.

“I’m Rider,” the witch introduced herself, eying Elijah with just as much interest.They were sizing each other up like they were about to go to battle against each other, instead of fighting on the same side. “I’m here to help.”

There was some definite mocking in that tone of voice, but Rebekah didn’t pay it any mind. The witch had behaved herself thus far, and, really, if you wanted to attack an Original you didn’t wait until a second one showed up to do so.

“She’s a witch,” Rebekah explained, which caused Elijah to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

“Forgive me, Miss Rider,” he said slowly, the polite words doing nothing to cover the sharpness of his focus, “but in my experience witches are rarely there to help. Not where vampire affairs are concerned, at least.”

If the scepticism bothered Rider, she didn’t show it. “True. Witches are a bit of a narrow-minded lot, to be frank. Then again, so are vampires. And werewolves. Not to forget humans. Funny, isn’t it?” The witch shrugged. “But if you’re wondering whether I’m about to go behind your backs: I won’t. I don’t care about this town or it’s people. I don’t even particularly care about you. I’m here because K-Man called in a favour—and having The Hybrid owe you one is too good an opportunity to pass up.”

Elijah tilted his head in consideration and sent Rebekah a questioning look. She shook her head. She’d no idea who this witch was or how Nik knew her. Until she’d appeared right in front of her, Rebekah hadn’t even known she existed. But Nik had announced Rider’s arrival, and it wasn’t unusual for her brother to keep useful contacts to himself.

“Look, if you don’t want my help, fine. I can’t make you.” The witch rolled her eyes, apparently not the least bit intimidated by her company. Honestly, it was that nonchalance that convinced Rebekah more than anything else—Nik had a weakness for people who were utterly unafraid of him. “But going against a witch high on expression magic, a hunter and a couple of their friends armed with a white oak stake without backup is _stupid and you know it_. Just saying.”

“Indeed,” Elijah hummed, without saying anything at all. “And I assume your presence would, ah—even the odds, so to speak?”

“It might. It might not.” The witch grinned. “If nothing else, they don’t know me, same as you. They don’t know what I can and can’t do. That’s gonna make them pause.” The grin dropped off Rider’s face like a spit-out gum. “You’re stronger and faster than them. You’re the _Originals_ , and in a clear battle they can’t actually overpower both of you. But you’re also high on revenge. And they know you. If you walk into this convinced you can’t lose, the universe is gonna prove you wrong just because it can.”

At that Rebekah sneered. “They aren’t prepared for us.”

“Maybe not,” the witch agreed. “But they’ve got numbers on their side, and they are willing to die for each other. That makes them dangerous.”

“What do you suggest then?” Elijah intervened, before Rebekah had the chance to start ranting about how far beneath her heel that bloody doppelgänger bitch truly was. He sounded genuinely curious, and, as much as Rebekah hated to admit it, she knew Rider had a point. Well, maybe half a point. The little Scooby gang was used to plots and threats, not blunt, unapologetic death of those they actually cared about. Perhaps that was why she had underestimated them.

“Don’t waste time,” the little witch replied promptly. “Threats, promises, torture… It drags on and leaves them with chances to come up with a plan. You can’t give them that opportunity. Kill them or at least most of them as fast as possible. It will break the others’ spirit.”

“They deserve to suffer!” Rebekah and Elijah snapped at the exact same time.

“Maybe so, but what’s the point if they escape you in the end?” Rider challenged. “They have numbers on their side. Two, maybe three of them you can control, but the others need to be taken out fast. _Especially_ the witch,” she stressed. “You have little to no defences against her, and from what K-Man said, she’s in full Hulk-mode at the moment. Expression is a hard thing to control, but even so she can still channel that power. She needs to die first, or whatever plot you have in mind is going to fall apart before it even starts.”

Rebekah glared—the insinuation that, after all these years, one little off-the-rails witch should be enough to bring about their downfall irking her more than she cared to admit—but the truth was, she didn’t mind much. “The doppelgänger and Stefan are mine,” she growled. “Nik promised,” she added to Elijah’s visible surprise, “and they _will_ suffer. If you want to have a bitch fight with the Bennett girl first, be my guest.”

“I can’t take her on, Rebekah.” The witch shook her head widely. “Believe it or not, the Bennett girl is powerful. I only got a taste of the magic she used to lock K-Man up, but, man, she’s riding the wave straight to the top. That girl’s so amped up, if we weren’t on a time table, I’d just lean back and wait for her to overdose.”

Elijah furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “You’re talking about magic like it’s a drug.”

“Not just any magic,” Rider corrected. “Expression. There’s a reason few practice it. Any of you ever read Harry Potter? The dark magic Voldie-Moldie and his Death Munchers use? It’s described as twisting, and in some cases even tearing apart your soul. Expression is kinda like that. I mean, not in the Let’s-make-horcruxes-and-become-immortal way, but it gives you a rush and it becomes addictive. And then it starts to change you. Once you’re hooked, you can’t just stop, ask any addict. It doesn’t work that way. It’s not as easy as simply deciding not to do it anymore. And you know the real fun part? The human body can only handle a certain amount of magic before it simply becomes too much and the body shuts down. This girl? She’s gonna die, whether you kill her today or not. Her own magic will rip her apart from the inside out and she still _won’t stop_ until it kills her.”

Rebekah stared at the witch and wished, more than anything in the world, that Kol was here right now. He was the one who had always loved magic, he would know what the girl was going on about. He’d have been able to tell them how to handle the Bennett bitch. He’d— But he wasn’t. And they would have to take Rider’s word for it.

By the dark look on Elijah’s face, he’d reached the same conclusion.

“If she is as powerful as you say she is, how do we take her out of the picture?” Elijah asked. “I myself would like to have a conversation with the Gilberts, and I don’t wish for our time to be cut short.”

His voice sounded even and reasonable. It reminded Rebekah of that time her brother had torn apart an old coven of witches in Hebrew, after they had managed to capture and torture Nik and Kol. An incident that had not only erased an entire village from the plane of existence but also lead to a few of the best decades of their entire lives. It had been the perhaps longest time that her brothers had seen eye to eye. Until their father had found them and ruined it, of course.

“We could just lock them into the boarding house and burn the whole place to the ground,” Rebekah commented lightly, a yearning smile growing on her face. Kol had loved to burn things down—it would be a fitting end. “Still, I’m partial to more blood and screams and severed heads.”

The little witch stared at her like she couldn’t decide whether to appreciate Rebekah’s mindset or be disturbed by it. But when she spoke, her voice was mild. “Personally, I was thinking less _The Godfather_ and more _Ocean’s Eleven_.”

*

“Are you sure about this?” Rebekah asked quietly whilst the little witch was focused on a small wooden stick in her palms.

“Her idea sounds reasonable enough in theory,” was Elijah’s equally quiet reply—if not a very satisfying one. “I do not believe that she wishes us harm.”

“She might change her mind once people start dying,” Rebekah pointed out. After all, despite their politics and disagreements, witches were witches. And witches valued lives.

“Perhaps.” But it was clear by Elijah’s expression that he didn’t expect it to happen. It was the main reason Rebekah vowed to stay on her guard. They didn’t need any more backstabbing today. “If that were to happen, we will just have to improvise.”

That, they had plenty of practice in. Thanks to Kol, mostly. Against her will, Rebekah found herself exchanging a small, knowing smile with her brother—their thoughts once more too close to the abyss of loss for her comfort.

“Alright,” the little witch chirped and threw the wooden stick at Elijah, who caught it easily. Then she turned her attention to Rebekah. “Now give me your shirt.”

“Excuse me?” Rebekah gaped.

Rider scoffed. “Oh, you heard me fine. C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“What would you need it for?”

“Nothing.” the witch shrugged. “I just really wanted to know how you look topless.” Rebekah froze where she was unbuttoning her blouse, earning her an annoyed eye-roll. “Relax, I’m joking. It’s just—let’s call it insurance.”

And that was all the witch would tell them.

Ten minutes and plenty of chanting later, the girl was finally done. She threw the shirt at Rebekah’s head and bounced towards the door.

“Ready?” Elijah asked her softly. There was something in his voice, an added layer that gave Rebekah pause.

“No,” she answered honestly. She wasn’t ready to avenge Kol. She wasn’t ready to admit that she’d lost him. “But when has that ever stopped me before?” They exchanged another smile, this one grim but determined.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Rebekah crouched down next to Stefan, who had finally come around again, and patted his cheek harshly. “Up, up, darling, sleepy time is over. You and I are going on a little trip.”

“Fuck off!” Stefan rasped weakly.

“Now, now, that’s no way to talk to a lady. I know you were raised better than that, Salvatore. Besides-,” Rebekah gripped his chin, forced him to look up and meet her eyes, “I gave you my heart, Stefan Salvatore. You owe me one.”

And with that she pulled him upright, and walked towards the doors. Sending Elijah a beatific smile,Rebekah said calmly, “Let’s go.”

They had an appointment to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Don't forget that kudos and comments are free, especially if you have any ideas for the revenge plans ;)


End file.
